Fifty-Seven
by MissingMommy
Summary: John isn't counting the number of times Irene texts Sherlock because he's jealous. Because being jealous implies feelings, and John does not have those types of feelings for Sherlock. :: Implied Johnlock. For Jenna.


For Jenna. I know this isn't what you requested, but I didn't think I could do anything you requested justice. So Lizy suggested to write you some Johnlock. Here you are!

For the 5, 10, 20, 50, 70, 100 fandoms challenge.

Word count: 1121

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_One_

You hear a sound that you aren't unfamiliar with. You glance at Sherlock, then Mycroft, trying to figure out the source of the noise. Sherlock picks up his phone, and you turn back to your breakfast.

The noise sounds through the room again, and you momentarily pause. You pray that it isn't Sherlock's phone making that noise, but you hear the newspaper move and you know it is. Your fingers hold your knife just a little tighter.

When Mycroft leaves, you ask him why his ringtone changed. But he refuses to answer you. Instead, he lifts the newspaper to hide his face. And that's when you remember who had his coat last and, by association, would've had access to his phone – Irene. Everything clicks together in your head.

You're not sure why having Irene's climax as Sherlock's ringtone bothers you so much; it just does. Instead of bringing it up again, you do the only thing you can and keep your head down, and focus on your breakfast even though you've lost your appetite. Because he's Sherlock, and he would know something's wrong if you don't eat.

_Twelve_

It's the fifth time in the last twenty minutes that Sherlock's phone has gone off. You watch out the corner of your eye as Sherlock picks up the phone and makes quick work of texting _her_ back. He places his phone back down and continues watching the crime scene investigative show, rambling off his deductions.

"The husband had to do it. Don't you –"

"You can change your ringtone back, you know," you interrupt him. You're not even sure why you said that because you _aren't_ jealous, and that's the first thing he'll think. But you can't exactly take the words back now.

He looks at you with his blue eyes, looking for the meaning, the reasoning, behind your interruption. Only the sound of the telly remains between you as he stares at you. As much as you want to look away, you don't because he would misread that in some way, you're sure. After a while, he returns his attention to the telly. "Of course I know," he replies before finishing off his previous deduction.

And for some reason that frustrates you even more. Why wouldn't he change it back since he obviously knew how?

_Twenty-nine_

You follow Sherlock into the crime scene. Lestrade leads you both into the back bedroom, where a man is lying across the bed. By one glance at the scene, you know that it's an easy case, but Lestrade wants to be sure that the man isn't a victim of the serial killer currently running loose in the streets of London.

Lestrade steps out, as you move next to the body. "He's been dead for about 3 hours. He was suffocated, with a –," you say. But you stop mid-sentence as Irene's sigh comes from Sherlock's pocket. "For Christ sake, Sherlock. If you're not going to change your ringtone, then put it on silent. We're at a crime scene," you scold him, frustrated.

But he pays you no mind as he texts _her _back and slips his phone back in his pocket. "Suffocated with a pillow. The wife found out he was sleeping with another woman, and decided to take her revenge the next time he seduced her," he tells Lestrade as the detective returns to the room. "Come along, John."

Being the obedient solider you are, you stand up and follow Sherlock out of the room.

_Forty_

The first thing that you hear as you walk in your flat is the sound of Irene climaxing. You sigh in annoyance as you shed your coat. "John, is that you?" Sherlock calls.

"Yeah," you call back as you enter the kitchen. He glances up momentarily before continuing with his text message. You turn the pot on and grab two glasses. As you open the fridge door, you hear Sherlock laying his phone on the table before focusing on his experiment.

Without looking up from the microscope, he says, "We're out of milk. I used more than I expected to."

You whirl around, furious. You fight to keep your tone even as you reply, "And you couldn't have texted me on my way home?"

He must hear something in your voice because he looks up from what he's doing. "I forgot," he answers noncommittally. Before he can say something else, you walk as calmly as you can out of the kitchen and out of the house, only pausing to grab your jacket.

You're not sure why you're angry. He's done this plenty of times before – not telling you that you're out of something at the house before you get there – so it really shouldn't be a surprise. But there's a nagging in the back of your head that reminds you that he can text _her_, but not you. And, even though you will never admit it, it stings just a little.

_Fifty-seven_

In the seconds after you inform him of just how many text messages he's received from Irene, you know it was a mistake. You feel the eyes of everyone else on you, but you're only worried about him. He meets your eyes for half a moment. And in those few seconds you know that several thoughts about why you've been counting are rushing through his head.

The first conclusion that he'll come to is that you're jealous. But you know you aren't. You can't be because being jealous means that you have feeling for him, and you most definitely do _not_. However, you can give him no explanation as for why you're keeping track of how many texts he received from her.

He doesn't really pay you any attention at he finds a box on the mantelpiece. When he picks up a red box, you know that it's from her. You wonder how the hell she got in your flat without you knowing. And you wonder how many times she has broken into your flat. You wonder if she's broken in and just watched Sherlock as he slept.

You blink, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. Instincts kick in and you make your way to his bedroom door. It's cracked enough for you to hear, "No, I mean you're going to find her dead."

He hangs up the phone as he moves toward the door. You barely get, "You okay?" out of your mouth before he's shutting the door in your face. Anger courses its way through your body. Sherlock definitely doesn't share everything with you, but it's the first time that he's shut the door in your face.

As you go back to the living room, you wonder what it is about Irene that has Sherlock so caught up. But the texts stop at fifty-seven, and you never hear from her again. (And neither does he).

**A/n – a huge thanks to Paula for beta-ing this for me. **


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